


Acts and Lies

by Mithen



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Acting, M/M, Pretending to be lovers, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-23
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 12:25:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1226152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mithen/pseuds/Mithen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Blakefest!  A gift to Elviaprose, for the prompt:  "Avon’s a horrible actor, as we see in Assassin. Let’s have some more of that. And let’s have Blake try to help him improve."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Acts and Lies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elviaprose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elviaprose/gifts).



"We're doomed," groaned Vila. Which was hardly unusual, but as Blake scanned the faces of his crew, most of them seemed to agree with him.

"Jenna's explanation seems simple enough to me," he said briskly. In his experience briskness went a long way toward moving people in the right direction. "Heyudi and Shakunar have been at war for generations, and the Federation is siding with Shakunar to launch an invasion and take over Heyudi. Avon and I pretend to be this Shakunaran General Udres and his attaché, visiting Heyudi for peace talks--"

"--that are already doomed to fail," put in Jenna. "They're nothing but a sham."

"--we get access to the Heyudi planetary mainframe, Avon implants the virus, and when the Federation invasion force takes over the planet and interface with the planetary mainframe, they'll find their fleet computers speaking gibberish for at least a week. That's a week we can use to vanish completely, pop up here and there as a distraction, strike a few strategic facilities--"

"--and put some space between us and our current crop of pursuers," put in Avon.

"We're doomed," Vila announced again.

Avon crossed his arms. "Are you saying my computer skills aren't up to it?" Vila shook his head in mute misery, and Avon glared around at everyone. "So what _exactly_ is the problem?"

Cally tilted her head to the side and appeared to be considering her word choices. "Well, you have to play Apax. He's the one who'll have access to the mainframe. So that means you'll have to, well…"

"You'll have to pretend to be Blake's subordinate," Gan finished for her.

"Doomed," Vila murmured.

Avon drew himself up and looked down his nose at them all. It was quite the nose to look down, Blake thought. _A shockingly kissable nose_ , part of his mind pointed out before he firmly informed it that its feedback was neither required nor requested. "I can _pretend_ to be subordinate to Blake for a few hours, especially if it means we'll have some peace from the Federation hounding us," he said.

Everyone looked distinctly doubtful.

"Your acting skills are…" Cally bit her lip and rallied. "You are a surprisingly honest man in some ways."

Avon, of course, looked offended. "I was convincing enough last month on Hkarradta'r."

"You were playing a _prince_ ," Gan pointed out.

"A prince known for his arrogance and rudeness," Jenna said.

"We're just saying it wasn't much of a stretch," Vila added helpfully.

"Also, there's an extra complication," Jenna said. Blake felt a sudden wariness grip him at the relish with which she said that. "Apparently Apax is rather well-known for being madly, passionately, and deeply in love with Udres." Her smile was dazzling, and Blake watched Avon's face go stiff and awkward. "He even published a book of poetry dedicated to 'his General.' Shall I read you some? 'Ode to my Lover's Mouth' is quite steamy, I memorized it." She cleared her throat and declaimed: "Oh lush and tempting curves I yearn to kiss / You smile and I am lost, awash in bliss. / Your frown a thunderbolt that smites my heart / Each day a torment when we are--"

"--We will find a different way to deploy the virus," Blake said. Avon's face was pale and set; Blake didn't meet his eyes. "We'll get in touch with our contact on Heyudi, find an alternative."

"Your faith in me is admirable," Avon snapped, rounding on him. "You think I can't do it, is that it?"

"I think that--"

"--You think that I'm incapable of even _faking_ esteem for you?" His emphasis was honed to a stinging point.

"I think you're capable of nearly anything," Blake said, letting it cut back, hating himself for it even as he saw Avon's eyes narrow.

"Very well," Avon drawled, looking back at the rest of the crew. "We have two weeks until our opportunity, is that right?" Jenna nodded. "If I cannot convincingly play a man deeply in love with you by that time, we shall cancel the mission." A smile as thin and false as ice over a rushing river. "I shall let the four of you be the judge of my...verisimilitude."

Vila looked vaguely alarmed. "Here now, I think--"

"--Sounds good to me," said Gan.

Jenna shrugged. "Could keep things from getting too boring."

Cally frowned, but nodded, and Avon lifted a dismissive hand. "We shall start tomorrow," he said, turning to leave the flight deck. "Give me tonight to prepare for my bravura performance."

"Don't I get to judge you as well?" Blake called after him.

Avon stopped in the doorway, not looking back. "No," he said. "No, I don't think you're any judge at all."

And then he was gone, leaving Blake feeling--as usual--like Avon had just scored the last point in a game in which the rules were still entirely unknown.

* * *

That night was one of the bad ones: bad dreams and headaches and restless twitching limbs, and when he managed to wake up enough to get to the flight deck he was still trying to banish the last wisps of hazy nightmares from his mind.

"Roj! Good morning!" said a voice. "It's such a pleasure to see you."

Blake squinted around the flight deck to try and find the source of the voice. The other members of the crew were all staring at Avon. Who was _beaming_ at him. Belatedly, memories of the last evening filtered into his mind, and he groaned and shot Avon a truly poisonous look.

Or one that would have been poisonous to anyone but Kerr Avon, who probably dusted arsenic on his sweets to add savor. "You look tired," he cooed. "Can I fetch you something to drink, Roj dear?"

"Don't call me that," he growled.

"What, dear?"

"No, Roj."

"So you don't mind my calling you dear, how sweet." Avon's smile was a thing of glory and made Blake yearn to punch him.

"Avon," said Vila, "That won't do at all."

The smile disappeared completely. "What do you mean," said Avon in his familiar flat voice. Blake bit back a sigh of relief.

"I think Vila means that you seem…" Cally paused.

"...like a bad actor pretending to be in love," Gan finished for her.

Avon scowled. "I smiled when I saw him, I called him by his first name, I even used an endearment," he said, holding up a finger for each item. "Isn't that loving of me?"

"Love isn't a set of boxes you can tick off, Avon," said Cally.

"I beg to differ," said Avon. "I have always thought of love as a set of boxes: preferably tightly sealed and most likely filled with messy, unpleasant surprises." He shot Blake a look. "Oh, but it seems I'm talking about you again, _dear._ I seem to do that a lot, but can you blame me?" He flashed a smile that seemed somehow to include everyone but Blake. "I chatter about the object of my affections."

Gan had crossed his arms and was looking at Avon with his head tilted. "You need to work on your body language," he said. "Showing affection isn't about words, it's about behavior."

"Everyone says that," said Avon, his eyes following Blake as Blake took a seat across from him, "And yet no one seems to actually _mean_ it."

"That's what I'm talking about," said Gan. "A person in love would move to sit next to the person they love. You didn't move."

Avon raised his hand in the air (how he managed to raise a hand disdainfully Blake did not know, but he managed it). "Excuse me, teacher? May I point out that it was Blake who didn't sit next to me?"

"But _I'm_ not pretending to be in love with you," Blake noted.

"What a relief," snarled Avon. He did have a lovely snarl. "However, we are supposed to be playing a couple, so you should also--"

"--Not exactly," put in Jenna. "The Heyudi have a system based on what they call 'courtly love,' where one-sided love is considered the purest kind. No one knows what Apax and Udres get up to in their private life, but Udres doesn't show much affection in public, while Apax is extremely eloquent in his fervor. Really, you should read his poetry, it's quite--"

"--Thank you, Jenna," said Blake. He nodded at Avon: _Filled with messy, unpleasant surprises, am I? You have no idea._ Patting the seat next to him, he said, "You may sit next to me, if you like."

"Oh, you're too kind," said Avon. "No, I mean it," he added after a moment, not moving.

"You have two weeks to get better at this, Avon," said Blake. "Or we cancel the whole mission and try something else."

"Something almost certainly more dangerous, more stupid, and more risky," snapped Avon. He stood up and threw himself into the seat next to Blake, crossing his arms. "There. I'm sitting next to you. Pleased?"

"Delirious with joy," Blake said with about as much affect as Zen.

"You don't seem to be enjoying yourself very much," Gan said. "You should sit closer."

Avon glared at Gan and moved a millimeter closer to Blake.

"A bit closer," said Gan, and grinned at Vila.

Vila blinked and then grinned back. "Gan's right," he said with sudden animation. "You can't look very lovey-dovey if you're sitting as far away as possible, Avon. Come on, you can try harder than that."

Grudgingly, Avon shifted until he was nearly touching Blake.

"Now put your hand on his knee," Vila suggested.

"Go ahead," Blake said as Avon started to snap something. "I don't mind."

"Very well," Avon said, depositing his hand on Blake's knee as if he were dropping a sack of rocks. It lay there palm upward, so utterly and pointedly inert that Blake almost started laughing.

"Avon, _really_ ," he managed. He took Avon's hand and turned it so the palm was downward, the fingers--which were cold and somewhat clammy--curling around his knee. He laid his hand across it lightly, letting his fingers fit into the spaces between Avon's, and tried not to think of the things he had imagined that hand doing to him in occasional moments--all right, hours--of weakness.

"Stop staring at your hand, Avon," Vila said. Jenna was smirking, and Cally was frankly giggling at this point. "Your hand is not the most fascinating thing in the universe."

Blake rather begged to differ. It was extremely pleasant to have Avon touching him when their lives _weren't_ in danger, he thought wistfully.

"You should be looking at Blake," Gan said.

"Right, looking longingly," Vila added.

"With your heart in your eyes," Jenna chimed in.

Blake shot them an exasperated look. "This is ridiculous," he said, turning back to say something light and deflective to Avon, knowing Avon would meet it with an answering quip and they'd move on.

And then he met Avon's gaze and flinched backwards, yanking his hand away without thinking.

They sat there for a moment, each as far as they could get from each other without actually standing up and fleeing.

"It's that impossible," Blake said, the question coming out flat and lifeless. "You can't even just--" He shook his head. "Just for a moment."

Avon stood up. He was wiping his hand on his trousers and didn't seem to realize it. "It seems not," he said, his voice remote. "I shall renew my studies and try again tomorrow."

"I guess his heart really _was_ in his eyes," Vila said in the wake of Avon's departure.

"Hush, Vila," said Cally, looking at Blake.

* * *

Avon did indeed redouble his efforts the next day, and then again the next, and the results were uniformly horrible and unpleasant: longing gazes and yearning sighs that reeked of insincerity, patently false compliments about Blake's "curling locks" and "strong hands" that reduced Jenna to sputtering laughter, an attempt at a consoling backrub on the flight deck that ended with both of them yelling at each other. And he wouldn't give up, no matter how loudly Blake made alternate plans for the Heyudi mission: it was a constant barrage of sentiment and mockery, one undercutting the other in dizzying succession. Blake was in a constant simmer of fury, and would have been even more enraged if there hadn't been moments when he caught glimpses of a mute, clenched misery in Avon's eyes, a sort of grim desperation running under all the falseness. The pretense was clearly causing Avon pain, and that more than anything else was what made Blake's shoulders stiffen whenever he was around, what left him empty and miserable in turn.

 _Strange_ , Blake thought in the privacy of his room after a long day of taunting flirting, _That of all the intolerable things in the universe, it is Avon's acting like he loves me that is most unbearable._

The door chimed and Blake opened to find Avon himself standing there, dressed in his simplest black turtleneck. "There's a problem with the Hayudi virus," Avon said without preamble, brushing past him to spread diagnostics on the table. "Some kind of off-by-one error, and I can't seem to locate it. As you know more about programming than the rest of the crew together--"

"--not that that's saying much," Blake finished in unison, and he grinned at Blake for a moment, the real smile that Blake hadn't seen for days.

"Anyway, another pair of eyes couldn't hurt," Avon finished. "I think the problem's over here," he said, stabbing at the diagnostics with a finger, "in this section of code."

They pored over the code for an hour, then two, bickering about where it might be, running it through the computer and bickering some more. Avon called Blake blind and stupid and went on from there; Blake went politely, overtly condescending in return. Avon gritted his teeth and gave Blake fifteen reasons why his theories were imbicilic, and somewhere in the middle of the list Blake realized that something had relaxed in his chest, that the tension in his shoulders was different from the clenched wretchedness of the past few days. Avon was back to normal, the world was back to normal, if by "normal" you meant "annoying and contrary," and Blake did.

And then he realized that Avon's hand was resting on his shoulder, the thumb rubbing slightly against the cloth in small circles. That Avon's whole body was leaning into his, open and relaxed. "This works well," said Avon, glancing at Blake with a tiny smile. "You make moronic suggestions and I prove you wrong, and progress is made."

His face was very close to Blake's; he glanced down at Blake's mouth and bit his lip slightly.

"Nice work," said Blake.

Avon raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Why, thank you," he said--or started to, before Blake leaned forward and kissed him.

It started gently, just a brush of lips, and then Avon shuddered all over and grabbed Blake's shoulders, crushing him closer. And for a moment--for just a moment--Blake let himself savor the feel of it, the impossible delight of Avon's hands grabbing fistfuls of his hair, of Avon muttering his name against his lips.

Then he stepped back and smiled.

"Congratulations," he said. "You've convinced me."

"What?" said Avon. He blinked several times and shook his head as if to clear it.

"No need to be modest," said Blake. "You almost had me fooled for a minute there, it was very realistic."

"Realistic," said Avon.

"We're going through with the mission," Blake said briskly. This time the briskness kept _him_ moving forward somehow, because he was having a difficult time with that. He scooped up the diagnostics from the table with hands that did not shake at all and held them out to Avon; when Avon made no move to take them he pushed them at Avon's chest until his hands came up to take them. "But until we get to Heyudi, I'd appreciate it if you dropped the act. It's probably more energy than it's worth."

"Indeed," said Avon, walking toward the door. "But thank you for your approval," he added with a mocking bow.

After he left, Blake stood for a long time looking at the closed door. Then he went to the storage holds and picked out a bottle of expensive alcohol and five crystal shot glasses they had liberated from a smuggler. He carried them back to his room, poured himself one shot, and drank it.

Then he carefully and methodically hurled each of the crystal glasses against his mirror, savoring the sharp shatter of it.

That night he dreamed of broken glass and Avon's mouth.

* * *

"General Udres," said a visibly sweating Heyudan, putting his hand to her chest and bowing. "I am Shir Daa. And Captain Apax, we have heard of both of you even here, of course."

"Of course," Avon said absently.

"We are looking forward to the chance to check the safety of your accommodations," Blake said, stepping forward. "I hope you understand that we of Shakunar are showing incredible generosity in allowing the talks to be held on Heyudi itself rather than a neutral location."

"Certainly, sir," said the Heyudan. "I will show you the conference rooms and the sleeping quarters your diplomats will be staying in."

"I will need to inspect the mainframe as well," Avon said.

"Of course, of course. As soon as dinner is done," Shir Daa said. "This way."

"Dinner?" Blake flicked a look at Avon, who was examining a wall hanging intently and not looking at him.

"Certainly, sir. We would never dream of insulting guests by not providing sustenance." Shir Daa looked offended at the thought.

"Our thanks," Blake said hastily. "That will be pleasant. Won't it, Apax?"

"Indeed," said Avon, nodding at Shir Daa. "Lead on."

She frowned briefly, then bowed and ushered them from the room.

The meal was ornate and apparently delicious, but the food was tasteless in Blake's mouth as dinner progressed. Avon was making no pretense at all of being even fond of Blake: he made conversation, but his mind was clearly elsewhere, and he kept making absent-minded jibes at Blake as they went along.

"Are you and the Captain...not getting along?" Shir Daa whispered to him at one point. "I've heard so much about him, I've even read his poetry, and I just thought…"

"I'm afraid Apax isn't feeling very well tonight," Blake murmured back, ignoring the way her eyes narrowed in suspicion, trying to hide his growing concern. _Getting us both killed is a rather petty revenge, Avon!_ "This wine is quite delicious, isn't it?" he said to Avon, hoping Avon would take the obvious opening to compare its tawny color to his General's hair or eyes, but Avon just took a sip and grimaced slightly.

"It's a little too sweet for my liking," he said, swirling the golden liquid in his glass.

Shir Daa looked increasingly concerned, and eventually stood up and excused herself. Blake could see her whispering with a man in uniform, both of them shooting surreptitious glances at Blake--and at Avon, still absent-mindedly eating grapes without looking at the man beside him. They could be worrying about "Apax's" health--or they could be discussing suspicions that their guests were not all they appeared to be. Blake felt sweat prickle his skin, turning his stolen military outfit clammy and uncomfortable. _"Apax,"_ he whispered, pitching it to have the same intonation as "Avon." "Are you feeling well? You seem… _not yourself._ "

Avon looked at him then, and that mute misery was back in his face, tight around his mouth, and Blake felt a terrible desire to put his arm around him. "I'm sorry," he said. "I can't. I just--"

And then he frowned, his gaze moving beyond Blake, behind him. Blake saw panic wipe all misery from his face a moment before Avon shoved him _hard_ and leapt over the table at something, yelling "Get down!"

There was a sharp scuffle, a flurry of shrieks and cries as Avon grappled with a stranger in blue robes. Amongst the chaos, the sound of Avon's shocked, small gasp seemed to cut Blake's heart in half. He threw himself forward in turn and managed to tackle the man, knocking him to the ground. A clattering noise--a knife fell from his hand to the floor, spinning in an incongruously lazy circle. The blade was wet and red.

Blake whirled to see Avon standing, looking pale and annoyed, a hand pressed to his shoulder. He pulled it away and glared at the blood staining it, then at the spreading scarlet on his clothing.

"How very stupid of me," he observed just before his eyes rolled up in his head.

Blake caught him before he hit the ground.

* * *

"A thousand apologies, General!" Shir Daa was bone-white with shock and chagrin; she and the captain of the guard bowed so deeply their heads almost touched the floor. "It was our unforgivable lapse in vigilance that left you open to attack. If you require a ritual suicide, we--"

"--No ritual suicide will be necessary," Blake said. He was sitting next to Avon's hospital bed, as straight and still as the general he was pretending to be. Avon was going to be all right, he reminded himself. The danger was over. There was no reason for his hands to be shaking, for his heart to feel like it was falling to pieces. He didn't dare to move. He kept looking at Avon's closed eyes.

"In truth, sir, we feared you were an imposter," Shir Daa stammered as if making a confession. "Your captain's behavior seemed highly suspect, nothing like the Apax we were led to expect. But that is no excuse to--"

"--Do you believe we are who we claim to be now?" His voice was so calm, it was very strange.

Shir Daa looked shocked. "Of course! If you had seen his face when he was leaping into danger to save you, to throw himself between you and harm--there can be no doubt that you are indeed the Udres and Apax of which songs have been written. Such passion--it was humbling to witness. You are a lucky man."

There was the faintest wisp of laughter from the bed, and Blake looked down to see Avon's eyes half-open. "Lucky," Avon whispered.

"I am," Blake said to her, looking at Avon. "Truly, I am."

"You let them...give me drugs," Avon said.

"For the pain," Blake said.

Avon looked at him blearily. "Can't...check the mainframe like this."

 _"To hell with the mainframe."_ Ferocity shattered his voice into fragments; he cleared his throat and tried again. "I mean, you should rest."

"I can't act," Avon said. There were lines of pain around his mouth, and without thinking Blake took one cold hand in both of his. "I tried. Terrible at it. As Cally said, I am a...surprisingly honest man." He took a careful breath. "In some ways."

"And I am a surprisingly dishonest man." Blake smiled wryly as Avon's eyes flickered to his. "In some ways."

"Ah," said Avon. He closed his eyes and thought about it for a moment. "Apology...accepted."

"I believe I'm going to kiss you now," Blake said. Avon's eyes didn't open, but something like a smile twitched the corners of his mouth, softening the lines of pain. "If you don't mind."

Avon considered this statement for a time, long enough that Blake began to wonder if he'd fallen asleep. "I would like that," he said.

"I'll...just be going then," said Shir Daa. "Please let me know if there's anything we can do for you."

The door closed behind her and they were alone.

"She's gone," Blake said to Avon's closed eyes. "So...you don't have to, uh, keep acting."

Avon's fingers curled around his hand, tugged him close. "Idiot," Avon whispered, and Blake felt his breath on his lips. "Told you I can't act worth a damn."

This time the kiss stayed gentle, delicate, like a question. And an answer.

"I despise you," Avon said as the kiss ended, his voice flat.

Then he lifted Blake's hand to his mouth and kissed it.

"See?" he murmured against the knuckles. "Any idiot can lie. _Acting_ \--now _that's_ hard."


End file.
